


cold blooded

by uptheladder



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse, M/M, part 2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-18 03:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptheladder/pseuds/uptheladder
Summary: Shaolin Fantastic doesn’t DJ anymore. It hurts too much. It makes him think of a gap-toothed smile and words that could move mountains, or could make someone as broken as him want to glue themselves back together.





	1. Kurtis

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so the ending of episode 5 had me fucked up, and apparently I like torture because I decided to write about the aftermath of Shao x Zeke's break up rather than rewriting that whole scene lol. So this takes place about 10 months, give or take a few, after their break up. The title is inspired by Khalid's song "Cold Blooded." Enjoy!

Shaolin Fantastic doesn’t DJ anymore. It hurts too much. It makes him think of a gap-toothed smile and words that could move mountains, or could make someone as broken as him want to glue themselves back together.

Shaolin Fantastic doesn’t DJ anymore, even though he once said it was the only thing that made him want to live. Now he doesn’t care to live. He just exists, a shell of his former self. No longer the agile teen ripping and running and flipping through the streets of the Bronx and painting it beautiful with his spray paint cans or turntables. He is no longer Shaolin Fantastic. He is no longer the myth or the legend. He is Kurtis again. An empty shell. No feelings, no thoughts, just a body of nothingness. He is a void with no armor or wall of protection. He is a body detached from its soul, ran by its instincts and her dictations.

_“Come here, sugar. I gotta itch that needs scratchin’.”_

_“Do this for mama.”_

_“Your pussy ass brother is gone now, so you gotta man up and take on more responsibilities. But I know you can do it.”_

_“No more of that DJ shit, either. I need you focused. You know any other DJ’s who can turn this club out on Mondays?”_

He nods. Mumbles an “okay.” Takes his orders like a good boy and there ain’t no problems.

_Kurtis_ is a void. A body without a soul. It’s easier this way. To be detached and numb. Uncaring. When he cared he got hurt. When he was open and vulnerable, he got hurt. Annie was right all along; _he cared too much_.

So he stopped caring.

Shaolin Fantastic doesn’t DJ anymore, because he stopped caring. He stopped caring about the music, about the joy of finding a unique get down beat, about flying and freedom, about being bigger than the whole world.

Shaolin Fantastic doesn’t DJ anymore because there is no DJ without his wordsmith. There is no DJ Shaolin Fantastic without MC Books. There is no reason to live.


	2. Ezekiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments. Enjoy!

Ezekiel Figuero comes home from his first semester at Yale. As he walks off the train, SHAO 007 is no longer on the walls of the subway station waiting to greet him. Instead, a sign hangs in its place.

_GRAFFITI PROHIBITED BY LAW  
VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED_

Now that he thinks about it, the subway car was nearly empty; its insides a wasteland lacking the colorfulness from the likes of Rumi, Thor, Lady Pink, Crash and Daze, or Shaolin Fantastic.

The Bronx has surely changed since his time at Yale, and so has he.

He glances down at his watch, a graduation gift from his tía and Leon. _11:45 AM_. They’re still at work, Mylene is still living out her dreams, and he ain’t sure if he’s welcomed at Shao’s temple, but his feet carry him there anyway.

He switches his suitcase from one sweaty palm to the other, nearly dropping it several times. He wants to sprint and he wants to take tiny, paced steps. He wants to see him, but he’s terrified. What will he say? What will he look like? Will he forgive him?

_You know what people say about you? That you’re empty inside. That no one ever gave a fuck about you, so you don’t have any idea how to look out for anybody but yourself._

He swallows the lump in his throat.

He shouldn’t have said those things, but his anger and disappointment got the best of him. He was hurt, he was _human_ , he lashed out without thinking. And for a long time his anger kept him from realizing that he may have broken Kurtis even more. That’s what kept him up most nights or distracted him while he tried to read a chapter for his English lit class. It pained him to know the pain he put Shaolin through. His words weren’t meant to be weapons, especially against his best friend, but that night all them months ago, all he could see when he looked at him was his father. The lies, the pity in his eyes, the excuses flying from his mouth, the danger in his irresponsible actions.

Months later, when it was too late and he was packing his suitcases for college and reminiscing on the Summer of 1977 with Ra Ra and Dizzee, he realized he had fucked up. He went _too_ far, but the damage was already done. So, despite his realization, he loaded up the car the Kipling’s let Leon borrow and wrote all of his apologize in his notebook on his way to Connecticut.

 _I let you down, too._  
_I let you fall from grace_  
_like you was never worth shit,_  
_like you wasn’t Fantastic,_  
_mystical and magic._

He pulls his notebook from his back pocket, sifting through the pages to find his latest entry.

 _December 007, 1979_  
_It’s real now._  
_I’ll be home soon,_  
_and I can’t ignore you_  
_cuz you all around this city._  
_Your impact makes it pretty_  
_and I can’t close my eyes_  
_from your magic,_  
_Shaolin Fantastic._  
_With each passing day_  
_I grow more nervous,_  
_and with each passing night_  
_it takes longer for me to fall asleep._  
_I’m afraid of seeing you in my dreams_  
_with that pain on your face._  
_I wish I could kiss it all away._

He shakes his head with a dry chuckle. _Shaolin would deck me in the face if I tried that shit. Mylene too._

Their relationship was one of the main reasons he didn’t disclose his feelings to Shao. But Zeke knew he was in for it when that Pakoussa remix fell from the sky and time seemed to stop when the two strangers locked eyes. It was the same feeling he felt when he seen Mylene on the first day of kindergarten and she asked, “what you staring at, big head?”

The feeling was light and airy, heavy and thick, all at once. And it’s been miserable to have the source of those feelings be absent from his life. That was his fault, but he’s gonna make it right. He _has_ to, because life hasn’t been the same without his partner, without his conductor.

And when he looked at the empty lot where the temple once stood, he shoulda been hit with memories of the wordsmith and his conductor, but instead, he was hit by a train. It knocks the wind out of him. All he sees is ashes and tears. And Shaolin tryna escape the clutches of hell, of Inferno. And the city is a blur as he trusts his feet to lead him.

“Zeke?” Ra Ra asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Zeke?!” he exclaims before pulling his lanky frame into a hug.

This doesn’t help the tightness in his chest, and Zeke starts coughing, struggling for air.

Ra pulls away, alarmed, then quickly surveys his best friend. Tears streams down red cheeks and he’s trying to gasp for his next breath. Wide-eyed, Ra blankly stares at Zeke, still half-sleep, shocked, and confused. “Zeke?”

The pity in his voice and face makes it even more difficult for him to take in a breath.

_I knew it. I fuckin’ knew it! You so fuckin’ stupid and stubborn, Ezekiel!_

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He’s still sobbing and chocking on air. It sounds like he’s drowning.

Ra’s eyebrows knit together as he grips Zeke shoulder, but Zeke rips away from his touch and Ra Ra jumps back.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You coulda wrote a letter, called, sent a fuckin’ _telegram_! I didn’t get to—”

“Zeke, breathe! Take a deep breath, man.”

On his command, his lungs expand, gulping for air and coughing all at once. He emerged from his tears and can finally breathe again.

“What the fuck, man? You good? What the hell was that? Why you crying?”

He goes to answer, but he’s still catching his breath. He’s dizzy, too. Nauseous.

“Dammit, Zeke,” Ra exclaims when he doubles over and throws up his breakfast onto the pavement.

Frowning deeply, he wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand. “My bad, Ra,” he grumbles.

His eyes soften even as he wants to cuss him out. “You good, man,” he pats his shoulder. “Just, uh, just go inside and I’ll be right in. I gotta clean this up before we fuck around and have rats.”

“I’m sorry again.”

Ra smiles, waving him off. “I said you good; now go.”

Zeke chuckles, glad to know that their time away ain’t change nothing.

He’s nauseous again.

But the feeling quickly subsides when he hears Boo Boo call out his name. “Boo?! What you doing here?”

“I live here, nigga,” he says through a yawn, then looks at Zeke with a raised eyebrow. “What the fuck _you_ doing here? And why you look like…that?”

He frowns. “What I look like?”

“Like shit” he answers.

He smacks his lips. “Fuck you,” he says with a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. “You mind if I use ya bathroom real quick?”

Boo Boo looks him upside the head. “Zeke, when have you ever asked to use our bathroom? You high? Them white boys got you sniffin’ that powder?”

“Hell no, fuck outta here.”

Despite his adamant denial, Boo still side-eyes him. “Well, something’s up cuz you acting hella weird.”

His world comes crashing down again. “Yeah, I uh, I just, I just found—” He’s sick to his stomach again, and he sprints toward the bathroom.

“Niggas go to fancy white colleges and go nuts,” is the last thing Zeke hears before shutting the door behind him.

He lifts up the toilet lid, his stomach heaves, but nothing comes out. He waits a minute, expecting to expel all of the dark emotions twisting his stomach into knots, but again, nothing comes out.

Sighing deeply, he closes the lid and sits on it, holding his pounding head in his hands. His eyes flutter close, then snap open when Shaolin’s face appears behind his eyes. The sadness in his eyes haunts him.

 _It should_ , he thinks to himself.

He can’t imagine never being able to turn that sadness in his eyes into happiness. He can’t imagine never looking into his soft brown eyes again. He doesn’t _want_ to imagine it, either. Maybe that’s why it hasn’t really hit him yet. He’s willing himself not to feel a void, or feel a piece of himself missing. Because feeling that will let him know it’s all real, and he can’t accept that. He _won’t_.

A knock at the door pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. “Come in,” he calls out weakly and Ra opens the door then closes it behind him.

“Hey, how you feelin’?” he asks, sitting down on the edge of the tub.

Zeke shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“I don’t feel it either.” He stands up to his full height, and saunters over to the sink. He cups his hand under the running faucet before bringing it to his lips. He sloshes the water around in his mouth a few times before spitting it back out. He does this two more times, then splashes his face with the cold water.

Looking in the mirror, he feels sick again. Disgusted with himself. It brings tears to his eyes.

Ra Ra is quickly by his side, a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Zee—”

“Not now, Ra. _Please_.”

The distress and plea in Zeke’s voice pains him, and he hold his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. But if you ain’t outta here in five minutes, I’m dragging you out.”

Looking at him through the mirror, he giggles while he nods. Ra gives him a small smile before patting him on the back and leaving.

He’s left to stare at his own reflection. All he can see staring back is disgust, misery, and the bags under his eyes. Sighing, he splashes more water on his face; possibly hoping to wash away the guilt.

He closes his eyes, and Shao’s sad face greets him again. “I’m so sorry, Shaolin,” he whispers, praying the wind will carry his words to wherever he’s resting.

When he opens his eyes, tears stream down his cheeks and he wipes them away with the back of his hand.

He turns off the faucet then walks back into the kitchen where Boo and Ra sit at the table. Their conversation stops and they look up at him.

“You good?” Ra asks.

He shrugs as he takes a seat at the head of the table. “Shit, I don’t know. Thanks for everything, though.”

“Of course, man. It ain’t no problem.” They exchange smiles then silence falls over them before Ra asks, “so what was all that in there and downstairs? What you goin’ through, Zee?”

He puffs out his cheeks and blows out the air. “I don’t know, man. It was like my body was on autopilot when I seen the ashes. I wasn’t really processing nothing, but I felt all these emotions at once, and…” he trails off. “I don’t know. I just…I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s really gone.”

“ _Who_ is gone?” Boo Boo asks.

Ezekiel looks at him like he’s slow, and he answers slowly to make sure he understands. “Shaolin...”

“Zeke, what?”

“I told you this nigga on drugs.”

His eyes dart between the two brothers. “Shaolin is—the… the temple. It, it’s burned down.”

“You thought Shao…died…in a fire?” Ra Ra asks.

“He didn’t?” He breathes out the longest sigh of relief, and the pressure in his chest is a lot lighter. “Shao’s alive?!”

“Yeah…” Boo answers slowly and eyes him weirdly. “What is up with you, B?”

Ezekiel takes several slow blinks. “I went by the temple and, I don’t know, I just assumed he—” he stops himself and swallows audibly.

“Nah, man,” Ra dismisses. “That joint went up in flames a few days after you left for school. Shao hasn’t lived there in months. Last I heard he’s living with Fat Annie.”

“What?”

“Yup,” Ra Ra nods. “He been heavy in the streets for a minute. I see him from time to time, but he acts like he doesn’t know who I am.”

Guilt, and the need to displace it, makes him ask, “after he finally broke free from Fat Annie, he goes back to her?”

“Where else was he supposed to go, Zeke?” Boo counters, a grimace on his face. “He ain’t have nobody but us, and y’all wasn’t talking to him. What other choice did he have?”

“He didn’t have to get you mixed up with his street shit, Boo.”

“He ain’t get me mixed up with nothin’; I asked him to put me on. He told me no, but I kept pressing him and told him if he didn’t, I was gonna go somewhere else. He was just tryna look out for me.”

“It still don’t matter, he still got you locked up,” Ra shouts back. “Plus, he lied to us. For weeks! We hung out everyday and he didn’t think to mention that he had my little brother slingin’ dope?! That’s not how you look out for family, Boo.”

“I don’t know why the fuck you so bitter, Ra. It ain’t like you was the one sittin’ in a jail cell for eight months!”

“Hey, hey, what’s all the commotion?” Dizzee interrupts, emerging from the dark hallway. Thor isn’t far behind, and snakes his arms around Dizzee’s waist when he gets within arm’s reach. He gives his bare shoulder a peck, then rests his chin there, and Dizzee blushes before turning his attention back to his brothers. “Wait, Zeke is that you?” Before he can respond, he already has him in a bear hug.

“Hey, Dizz,” he greets through his laughter and waves at Thor who’s waving at him. “Wassup, Thor?”

He gives him a warm smile. “Hey, Zeke.”

“Were you the one making all the noise?” Dizzee asks once he pulls out of their hug.

“Uhhh,” he starts, running the back of his neck. “No, but I sorta started it.”

He looks from Zeke to his brothers who are mean mugging each other from across the table. “What’s going on, guys?”

“Ra Ra’s in his feelings about Shao again.”

Before the other brother can snap back, Dizzee yells for them to stop.

Ra’s chest rises and falls with pent up anger. Boo Boo just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms across his chest. The eldest brother pulls a joint and lighter from his pocket and lights it up. He holds his hand out, Thor takes it, and he guides them to the table. Rumi hits the joint as he sits on Thor’s lap.

Zeke eyes his friend. “So, y’all parents let you smoke in here now? I definitely came back from Yale and entered the Twilight Zone.”

He giggles. “Hell nah. They outta town for dad’s gig.”

He nods and takes the blunt from his outstretched hand.

Rumi watches the stress drain from Zeke’s face as he takes a hit. He smirks. “What’re you doing here anyways?”

“This overdramatic nigga had a breakdown cuz he thought Shao was dead.” Zeke flicks Boo off and the young boy snickers.

“Hold on, what?” Thor speaks up. “What made you think that?”

“Guilt,” Dizz answers matter-of-factly. Everyone looks at him to expand, Zeke in particular. He ignores everyone’s wondering eyes and focuses on Zeke. “You know you gotta make it right to find peace.”

“I don’t care about my peace. I just wanna make sure he’s okay.”

“He’s _not_ okay,” Boo interrupts their two-way conversation. “Whatever you did to him really fucked him up. He ain’t the same Shaolin Fantastic we know and love. He doesn’t even _DJ_ no more, Zeke.”

His stomach plummets to hell, and he’s burning from the inside out. “What...?”

“Shao doesn’t DJ no more,” he repeats. “Not at parties, not by himself, not for me or Dizz, not even for Grandmaster Flash.”

The feeling comes back. He can’t breathe. The earth is revolving around the sun a little too fast. He needs to sit down. He is sitting down. He needs to get up. He need to leave. He turns to the table of people staring at him perplexedly. “Where is he? Where does he stay? Where can I find him?” He fires questions at them, his voice filled with panic.

“Your best bet is to check Les Inferno.”


	3. DJ Shaolin Fantastic & MC Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: self-harm, dissociation and other psychological symptoms, implied/referenced sexual abuse

~~~~The water can never get hot enough. He almost breaks the shower handle trying to increase the temperature. He wants his skin to boil. He wants it to melt right off. Down the drain and into the sewer.

_You need to go back to whatever sewer hole you came from. Ezekiel has a future, a real future, and you…you can’t stand it, can you?_

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Soon, he doesn’t know where the water ends and his tears begin.

Only when he thinks about Books does the emptiness inside him fill with tears and sorrow.

Sometimes it’s regret.

Sometimes it’s a numbness that only the scalding water can bring him out of.

Sometimes it’s anger.

Sometimes it’s a pain so excruciating he has to go outside of himself.

Anything to forget the disappointment on his face, the anger in his voice, the betrayal and hurt in his eyes.

He’s been trying to forget all that, and remember a life without Books. A life before that Pakoussa record slipped from his hand and changed everything. A life without his wordsmith. But it’s nearly impossible when, most days, his words sustain him.

_You a natural everything._

_“You a natural-born fucker, Shaolin! I’d put you up in one of my whorehouses, but you know I don’t like to share what’s mine.”_

_“You a natural everything,”_ he would repeat to himself as she’d cackled, until all he could hear was Zeke’s deep voice grumbling the words in his ear. And he’s on the rooftop with his wordsmith again, watching the sunrise.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

“Hurry the fuck up,” Little Wolf shouts from the other side of the bathroom door. “We gotta hit the block.”

_I love my best friend, but hate his hustle._

And sometimes, his words were knives—sharp, cold, and serrated—making anger boil inside him, and burning hotter than the water beating down on his skin.

Shaolin hates Ezekiel for only seeing a criminal. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried to look past it, or how hard Shao tried to show him different, Books could only see his hustle. Not the person. Not Shaolin. But the hustler. The drug dealer.

_My best friend Shaolin Fantastic is a fucking fantastic drug dealer ... Nowadays Shaolin, he’s like Superfly bred with a five-star general._

He ain’t none of those things. He’s a survivor. A superhero who saved himself then sacrificed himself. He’s Shaolin Fantastic.

_That ain’t a fuckin’ name!_

_It’s all bullshit, man. It’s like life’s one of Dizzee’s comics ... And outside the Bronx, it don’t matter. And it never will, because it ain’t real! It’s fantasies._

_You know what, Curtis? Papa Fuerte, Mr. Gunns, Mylene, they was all right about you. They was right since jump street. You ain’t magic..._ Shaolin Fantastic _. You broken..._ Curtis _. Never ever shoulda trusted you. Aye, hear me when I say this, aight? We’re done. Done done. Don’t come around me no more._

“Fuck,” he cries out, jumping back from the scalding water.

He cringes as he reaches his arm through the water to turn off the shower.

His heartbeat drums in his eras, the thick humidity in the small bathroom makes it harder to breathe. He can feel his skin glowing red. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and relaxes into the stinging pain. His body tingles and his mind is clear for a brief moment.

He’s flying. With Penny and Zeke. With his brothers. With the music.

 

  
Shaolin Fantastic is a shell of his former self. A body with no soul. A general that takes his commands from the president without opposition.

“Make sure y’all stop by the clubs and the daycares to get this month’s rent. And break some fingers if them mothafuckas got shit to say about the increase.”

His “a’ight” is mindless, a mechanical response to avoid her wrath.

Like their mechanical fucking.

“Unh uh. Where you goin’ without givin’ me some sugar.”

He looks away when their lips touch. He feels her smacking on them like she’s tryna find gold.

“Mmm. You got the sweetest lips, boy. Now hurry back so I can get another taste.”

Kurtis carves a smile out of his hollow shell, then he winks.

But he’s not sure if he’s just blinking back tears.

  
When he blinks again, he’s leaning against the wall of some abandoned building.

“Aye, Shao?”

He turns to his left, and tries to match a name with a face.

Nothing comes to him.

He licks his lips before peering off across the street where somebody is exchanging a baggie for a couple crisp bills. “Wassup?”

“You zoned out on me for a minute, man. What you over there thinkin’ about?”

“Nothing,” he responds dryly.

He surveys his surroundings again. Some folks are slumped over, needles still stuck in their arms. Some walk down the street in scanty clothing and high heels, swaying to the beat of angels whispering dust into their ears.

Those are his customers.

And then there are his employees.

Four of ‘em—five including the mothafucka standing next to him—are scattered around their territory, attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible.

_Shaolin Fantastic’s got his own little army of kids on the street. Weeds cracking the pavement in search of the sun, talented minds stuck under thumb. The city ain’t pretty and Shaolin ain’t dumb. But that’s the flip side of life where I’m from._

He scuffs then takes the joint from behind his ear and lights it.

“What you grumbling about?”

Turning to him with the meanest mug, he blows smoke into the unknown guy’s face. “Yo, can you leave me the fuck alone? Go serve one of these junkies or some shit. Matter fact,” he puts the blunt between his lips before taking out a wad of cash. He counts out ten bucks and shoves it into the young man’s chest. “Go get me a slice of pepperoni and sausage with extra cheese. A beer too. And you better have my _exact_ change, mufucka.” He pushes the foot solider in the direction of the pizzeria then turns his attention back to his boys pushing and peddling.

_And even though I love my best friend, he love the streets, and the streets don’t let go._

His jaw clenches. Zeke had it all wrong. He had _him_ all wrong. He didn’t get it.

**_I don’t love the streets. I love you. I love our music. I love our brothers. But I don’t love the streets. You can’t love something that has taken so much from you._ **

**_But then again…_ **

**_I love you._ **

**_I’m in love with you, and that’s why I couldn’t punch your face in that night._ **

**_And why I was so close to kissing you instead._ **

**_It’s you and them fuckin’ words, man. They always send me over the edge. You be making me feel emotions I ain’t never felt before. You make me feel love. Real love._ **

_I love my best friend._

_You a natural everything._

_You got me._

_I got your back._

“Yo, Shao!”

He blinks slowly.

One of Moran’s crooked detectives hangs out of the window of his unmarked vehicle.

“You deaf or something, kid? I said your name twice.”

“My bad,” he apologizes, stepping closer to the car. “Wassup?”

“This kid was snooping around the block. Says he knows you.”

He peers into the back seat and his heart drops.

“Books?”

“Shao!”

“Y-ya, Yeah, he’s w-with me,” he stutters as his fumbling hands struggle to open the door. He could breakdown right then and there when the two lock eyes for the first time in nearly a year.

It’s like when they locked eyes for the very first time and the whole world stood still, silently bearing witness to destiny.

“Are you two gonna stop staring at each other and get the fuck outta my car?”

Zeke glares at him. “You gotta un-cuff me first, dumbass.”

“You cuffed him? What the fuck, Scott?!”

“Hey,” he calls out. “Watch who the fuck you’re talking to.”

Scott stares him down, and any other day, Shao would be the last to look away, but all he’s concerned about is getting Books outta that car before the officer decides to abuse his power. He ain’t tryna get Books arrested too.

He fidgets as he waits on Scott, who seems to be taking his sweet time. Til finally, Zeke’s long legs are hoping from the back of the car, and he nearly knocks Shao down.

“Make sure I don’t catch you snooping around some place you don’t belong,” he warns Zeke before speeding off.

“Fuckin’ pig mufucka,” Zeke grumbles and Shaolin laughs.

They sound more like his words than they do Zeke’s. Soon, Zeke starts laughing, too.

And everything is perfect until Zeke pulls Shao into a hug.

“I missed you, Shao.”

He pushes him off, nearly making Zeke trip over his own feet. “The fuck you doin’?

“I-i I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Fuck that. What the fuck you even doing here, Books? Take ya ass home before you get caught up in some shit.”

“No,” he states, his face just as firm as his voice. “I came to talk to you. I _need_ to talk to you.”

Sighing, he briefly looks around before turning his attention back to Zeke. “Look, I can’t talk right now. I’m workin’.”

He smacks his lips. “You always fuckin’ workin’,” he mumbles, making Shao clench his jaw. “Why can’t you just walk away? Right now. Just leave it all behind, Shao. You don’t need this shit.”

He chuckles bitterly. “You still don’t get it, do you? I _can’t_ leave, Books!”

He’s on the verge of tears, and he knows people are probably looking, so he takes a deep breath.

“She’s just gonna come back for me. She always does. And I can’t let her hurt you. So, just leave, Books. I already sacrificed myself for you. There ain’t no saving me.”

With his head hung low, Shaolin Fantastic gives up and accepts his fate. But Ezekiel Figuero won’t accept what Shaolin believes he deserves.

“Hey,” he calls out softly, putting his hand on his shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, he cranes his neck until he meets Shao’s dark brown orbs glistening with tears. “Remember when we was up on the roof? Remember you said our music was gonna make us fly?”

“That was all fantasies. Life ain’t one of Dizzee’s comics, remember?”

If having his words thrown back in his face didn’t hurt, Shaolin’s glare certainly pierced him like daggers.

“Kurtis doesn’t get a happy fuckin’ ending, cuz life for me ain’t never been a fairytale. I been on my own my whole fuckin’ life. I was abandoned and when I thought I found a family, she she took everything from me. _She takes everything_. And I ain’t got nothing left. I ain’t got nothing left for you. I’m empty inside, Books. Because like you said, the streets don’t let go.”

His words are biting him in the ass again, but he fights the guilt.

This ain’t about him.

“I’m not lettin’ you go either, Shao. If Fat Annie, or the drug business, or whatever gangsta mufucka got a hold of you, I’ma hold on tighter. I’m not lettin’ you go. Not again. And when I say you got me, I mean that shit, Shaolin. Fuck everything I said that night. It was fucked up and stupid and mean and vindictive and I’m sorry, Shao. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

And when Books, his wordsmith who sets his soul on fire, pulls him into a hug, Shaolin doesn’t push him away. He cries. Sobs. Releases the tears and sorrow and regret and anger and numbness and pain he’s been carrying around whenever he thinks of Zeke.

He clutches on to him, buries his face into the crook of his neck, and doesn’t care who sees.

He cries harder when Zeke clutches him back.

“You got me, Shao. I’m not lettin’ go. I love you too much to let go again. I know better now. And when you know better, you do better.”

“Each one, teach one. Come together,” they end in unison.

For the first time in nearly a year, Shaolin’s heart is light. He can breathe lighter again. He _feels_ lighter.

Shaolin Fantastic doesn’t DJ anymore, but he will soon.

Because his wordsmith—the one with the gap-toothed smile and words that could move mountains, or could make someone as broken as him want to glue themselves back together—will need a beat to rhyme to.

 

 _fin_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading everyone!!


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